Magic
by Nainers
Summary: Varian used to believe in magic. Despite what others may think... ((suck at summaries, just a late night drabble featuring a reason why Varian might have such a distain for magic))


Varian used to believe in magic.

Despite what others may think. He wasn't always so set in the ways of alchemy and science. In fact, growing up Varian would listen to stories about magical adventures, fairies, unicorns and all sorts of nonsensical creatures. He would attempt to sneak out during nights ona full moon because " _everyone knows unicorns only appear during a full moon"._ Every night without fail, his mother would tuck him into bed and tell him about the magical world that remained hidden from the prying human eyes, as his father watched on fondly from the door.

Those were the better days.

Each day became filled with the thirst for adventure, fun, and most importantly, each day reminded him of the love and warmth of his family

Varian couldn't really recall specifically when everything started to go downhill; nevertheless, his mother slowly stopped coming in at night to tuck him in bed. Every bedtime book that Varian enjoyed hearing were left on the shelves to collect dust. His mother's eyes stopped sparking, and when she smiled, Varian could tell that she seemed to be tired, almost as if it was forced.

That wasn't even the worst part

Varian could also tell that his father started to change his attitude too. Most of the time, Quirin would disappear from hours on end, coming back tired and frustrated from a long day's work. The man barely acknowledged the small boy, letting out a soft grunt as he passed by Varian.

He tried getting them to tell him stories, and take him out of adventures. His mother would feebly smile, and tell him she was too tired, and wasn't feeling very well, but promised she would let him know as soon as she were better… His father on the other hand, snapped at the boy, letting him know that "no! There's not enough time, she's running out of time!". Varian didn't understand who "she" was at the time… He found out soon enough.

He was only 8 when his mother collapsed next to him. They were stood by a large window overlooking Old Corona when she fell. Varian froze. Unable to comprehend what was happening, he could only stare as she lied there before snapping back into reality and screaming. "Help!" he cried out to his father "Daddy! Hurry!" his voice began to shake as tears streamed down his face.

The rest was a blur.

She was dying.

His _MOTHER_ was _dying._

So... that's what his father meant by "she's running out of time."

At first he was too shocked to think anything.

 _was it even possible?_

Then came denial

 _She COULDN'T be dying, she's gonna be alright. Magic would save her. Like it saves everything._

Then, as nothing changed anger flooding his senses

.

 _IT'S NOT FAIR! Why wasn't she getting better?! Mummy said that magic always fixes everything!_

And when his mother fell further ill, he resorted to bargaining.

 _If I were a better boy, then maybe, just MAYBE, magic would finally come. And if not, I will find the faeries that mummy always talked about and they'll help_

And then she died

Taking the last bit of hope for magic with her. Leaving Varian very alone, and very afraid.

That's when the floodgates broke for Varian. He couldn't really recall what happened after that, it was as if someone had taken his memory and dunked it into the ocean.

He could only remember a couple of fragments here and there. He didn't like to recall them.

He remembered screaming at one point. Messy tears pouring down his face and he clawed at his father to _let him go!_ His Mum was right there, just out of reach…. no! She couldn't be dead! _She was alive just a moment ago!_

In another memory he couldn't breathe. He could remember frantically gasping for air as his father held him tight. Allowing the small boy to latch onto him for dear life as the thought of his mother lay fresh in his mind. Varian could still feel his father soothing his hair and hear the empty comforts when he thought about it.

It felt like a piece of him left with his mother. He felt empty, now that his mother was gone.

Magic didn't save her.

Magic didn't do _**anything.**_

The mourning boy realised it was useless and the false hope it gave him made him hurt so much more.

He _**never**_ wanted to feel like that again.

Magic wasn't **real**. Unlike science and alchemy, which actually _**helped**_ him understand what happened.

He would never waste his time with such trivial hope and optimism ever again. He promised himself in that moment he would never feel so small ever again.

'Life isn't kind, nor magical.

 _It is cruel and ruthless._ '

And there _**certainly**_ isn't room for magic.


End file.
